More than one year of war...
This text is about feelings, about a small tragedy, about them as part of a "great" imperial country, about how carelessness becomes more mature through passing tests. This text is about the inextinguishable faith in freedom, about the preservation of the Human inside a human body, about making decisions, about personal responsibility, about the fact that there is no way back, about pain for the endlessly tormented Motherland, about hours of viewing the sources of truth, about the atrocities of the state regime and the disgusting evil of ideologies .
This text is about faith in yourself, about life and about people who seek the truth.
The war has begun... She and he… Breakfast on the balcony at a small apartment, the Greek sun dazzles your eyes… Travel dreams, plans, light conversations about life in Europe, they are yoga practitioners, they are careless… they are grown children.
Closer to dinner .. they found out, turned on the news: "Russia has sent troops to Ukraine."
Her heart sank .. For some reason I remembered how in the 11th grade I stood wearing a soviet uniform by the eternal flame with a soviet Shpagin’s submachine gun. Then it sounded: "The twenty-second of June, exactly at four o'clock Kyiv was bombed”, we were told that the war had begun..." As before, the blood froze... But now this was a reality, it happened in her life, these are not the songs of past cruel years. “This can’t be” is heard in his head, and his heart was beating with fright. What he had been reading about on the Internet in recent months (troops on the border with Ukraine are there for the attack, not for exercises), and what he considered impossible, happened. Fighters, deadly volleys of missiles, tanks, infantry fighting vehicles and people, people, people, going to fulfill military orders, frighteningly fly on TV.
The day ended strangely. She remembers the chaos in her head, the attempts of the mind to accept the terrible and at the same time crushing alienation, denial, the futile tricks of the psyche to leave everything as it was, go back a day, cancel it, somehow hide .. Thoughts about the beloved and so dear for the last 6 years to Sri Lanka .. Life in a village, knowing nothing, remain just a yogi, remain blind, deaf, continue to run away from reality, not to be aware, not think about it, not answer terrible questions ..
Further, the rapid reaction of the outside world did not allow to spread in indecision, in the awareness of what was happening, in time to give an adequate assessment. Until that day, she had known very little about politics, no one explained the importance to her. And in general, this is not accepted in Russia to be involved in politics. Then she had to survive, tried to become part of the "main" city. It did not work. She tried to become part of the world, she changed, she studied herself. A few years before the war, she fell in love with him. She was happy, she was calm, for the first time she felt care and support and dissolved in it .. He seemed to have guessed. He is smart, but he was a part of the "Russian world". He was taught the appropriate ideology for a long time, and he would find the "unnecessary" truth himself, asking himself uncomfortable questions, developing his own, but still very shaky, attitude to what is happening .. but it probably was too late .. Both of them were late in understanding reality. Again history repeated itself. The absolute evil of unlimited power, bureaucratic-political impurities, money, fears and petty corrupt souls has again manifested itself. (See https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWC_P718eyWPnsppexf09roBtvpmTtV8P). Once again, they, like many citizens of the "great empire", were left without plans, humiliated, faced with a difficult choice, with panic in their heads and the absolute absence of such a desired, such an ordinary, simple, calm tomorrow. Having no tomorrow has now become the new russian policy crawling into the heads of citizens.
Interview of the singer Noize MC to the journalist Yurii Dud’: https://youtu.be/89UEbXg3yos
Their beloved parents whispered into the phone that day: the borders will be closed again, we need to defend ourselves, it’s dangerous in the west, they hate us again, don’t speak russian in the streets, be careful, we are in the enemy’s ring, come back to motherland as soon as possible. Once again the government machine accelerated to full speed, launched the repressive-propaganda skating rinks built over a hundred years, rushing to the citizen’s bodies and still unformatted minds after the experiments of the soviet selectioners. They were forced to go to the place where it was most dangerous, where they would lose their lives, not the worst, where they would deprive them of their freedom, their selfhood, their individuality.
She and her mom.
She: “Mom, why should I go to my relatives, I don’t like them, and they don’t like me??!”
Mom: “Because they are your relatives! Put on a pretty dress! You will perform, you will read a poem! You must! Be more fun, you behave like a wild one.. ".
She: “Mom, do you love me?”
Mom: "Of course! What kind of stupid question are you asking?
She: “But then why are you hurting me? Why don't you want to understand me?”
Mom: "Enough, we're late. You will understand when you have your children.”
She has no children, but she has found the answers 30 years later.. She remembered her grandmother's stories about the Gulag, read the history, chewed it up in psychotherapy, felt it in yoga, she forgave, understood. Mom simply survived in a regime where her heart and mind were nurtured by censorship, dogma, pseudo-values, manipulation, deceit. They did their "good deed": they gave rise to self-deception, a learned helplessness called fate, quietly built it into the system, offended them internally, enviously angered the world. Half-starved, tired from constant work .. they were forced to believe in an illusion for the sake of saving life, to believe in the steadfastness of a father, leader, husband, boss, and quietly in God. They taught me not to take responsibility for my life. Mom is in a "good person" mask. She saved herself, she saved her, her love was a soviet one, neatly packaged, issued on coupons for the "right" deeds. Good love, a good person, love without spontaneity, without sincerity, tortured by tears from the burden of life, a strict, gray, dry cell of love.
He and his dad.
He: “Dad, I'm sick and tired of this job, of its empty nature, of the attitude of people at work and their attitude to work. It feels like everything is rotting inside, including me.”
Dad: "It's okay. The main thing is to be well-fed, shod, dressed. So it has always been in or near the government. We must stick to the state: it has always been, is and will be, no matter what happens. Endure, do not stick out. You have everything, just live. Everything is fien"
He: “Even if it resembles the Soviet one?” Father: “Again you are for the old. We close the topic.”.
He recalled endless disputes on raised voices with his father about the pros and cons of life in the USSR. I remembered these age-old arguments, said somewhere, by someone (mainly the on radio and TV), and calmed down on this. Yes, apparently, NOT EVERYTHING IS SO SIMPLE. Only after a decade of adult life He will understand why his father will give such clichés - answers and pieces of advice that planted fear and apathy first in his father, and then in him ...
Morning Moscow, war continues..
6.30. the day begins with the news of “Meduza” (the news agency, now banned in Russia), then she stands under a cold shower, breathes, tries to tune in, 3 workouts, “you need to pull together, you need to smile”. What I can? On the way to the studio on Arbat street, she sees portraits of Ukrainian children, it is written that they are being saved. She knows that the president of her country using the hands of mercenaries, embittered representatives of propaganda and the mass of weak-willed people living below the poverty line, with a fierce fascist idea, is killing their parents in Ukraine. It hurts physically, tears are dripping .. The look catches the girl with a cappuccino and a croissant, taking a selfie in a new jacket. She thinks: “Why didn’t the Truman show work with her?” .. Everything is “beautiful” in Moscow: the streets are cleaned, people are knitted with posters “PEACE” and “NO WAR”. But.. who cares ?..
Yet the order of things is ridiculous.
People melting metal,
Weaving fabrics baking bread, —
Someone stole from you shamelessly.
Not only your work, love, leisure —
Steal the inquisitiveness of open eyes;
And the truth of the matter,
Thinking skills have been stolen from you.
Each question was answered.
When you see everything, you don't see anything.
Became a matrix of newspapers
Your meek brains.
They answered every question...
Dressed gray and colorful,
In the morning and evening, like a vacuum cleaner,
The subway sucks you in.
Here you go with thick caviar,
All as one, one cut,
People who wear shoes,
People who can get.
Here they are, following a series of
And then going side by side
Just for the parade,
People who can kill...
But one day, in the midst of small things,
They feed you,
You decided to break out.
The exhausted square forms.
You rebelled. Yelling: — Stealing !
You don't want to give up.
They will come to you first.
People who can persuade.
Their words will be great.
They will be exalted and good.
They will prove as twice two,
You can't get out of this game.
And you will repent, poor brother,
Lost brother, you will be forgiven.
Singing to your square
You will be carefully returned.
And if you persevere:
- Don't give !.. The former shall not be !.. - Yes.
They will come out of darkness.
People who can kill.
You'll be like a hinou, swallowing longing,
And on the squares, like in a dream,
A blue patch will be drawn
Black bars in your window.
© Vladimir Livshitz
She enters the studio, then lesson and one more lesson. Working makes the time fly ... she sees the cleaning lady Anya. She is from Ukraine and tells how her sister's husband is fighting, how someone from the family was wounded, how terrible the war is. The receptionist girl takes her aside, and makes a remark: "You are a yoga teacher, this is not a place for such conversations. Relax, you are still fine." Evening. She and he... having difficult, drawn-out conversations. This is no longer possible, the question: “what to do” is especially heavy hanging over the waterfall ..
"Attack" in March..
For many days in her head there were the thoughts of protest, she could not just look. The shots from Bucha finally exposed her nerves, the absolute image of evil was clear, hatred and anger, impotence and apathy, fear of the state machine led by the murderers were growing. She doesn’t remember exactly what message, what exactly happened, but here she was sitting in the depths of her soul, something is squeezing her lungs so hard, squeezing her heart so painfully, triggering every centimeter of her body so hard. She was cold, she was suffocating, shrinking into a ball, she wanted to disappear, erase the pain, despair, she wanted to die. He helped, calmed. In each time he saves by his love, brings her back to life ..
The evil empire rises..
The history of the World War II: https://youtu.be/vgOcFQhOqgg
The war that became the cause of pride and the basis of the regime from Stalin to Putin, in fact, the war of peoples against fascism, which took millions of lives, took away youth from our ancestors, left her grandfather without a leg and without health, a holy war of people for life. She knew all the war songs, she loved those few meager conversations with her grandmother about the events of those terrible years. And in 2022, before her eyes, another vile disgusting tyrant, appropriated not only the national wealth of her country, he did not have enough money, but also coveted the last shrine, in the name of the victory of her ancestors, privatized the symbols of national honor, mutilated, depersonalized, smeared with blood neighboring country the great sacrifice of an entire generation! Mixed with his selfish ambitions, conspiracy crazy ideas, with his irrepressible thirst for power and money. With their senile fears, with vileness, hypocrisy, with rudeness and insignificance of their cunning petty greedy person. He and she, like the whole free world, wish you a speedy death, the old mad Chekist !
She found a place on the floor between the bed and the radiator, she climbs there, she feels better there. Thoughts explode my head, eyes swollen from tears hurt, but the emotional pain is even stronger, the psyche is at the brink. Mom's soviet program "just survive" doesn't work. Her birthday... but what's the difference now..
Fresh breath of the mountain air. Staircase "Cascade". They look from the distance at the Ararat mountain. The warm sun of Armenia caresses the skin. She begins to breathe, the first notes of freedom fill her being. She still does not fully realize the feeling that they have escaped. It gradually spreads through the body .. They are selfish, they save themselves, they save their position, their personality, they don't believe in russians, like Navalny, like Yashin, they do not sacrifice themselves. They have not come to the square demanding "to stop the war." They did what was convenient for the terror machine - they left their country to be torn to pieces, sawed up, humiliated, murdered. They did not find the strength in themselves to spend part of their years behind bars, but they left themselves a free word, did not shut up, did not adjust, did not close their eyes and ears from fear, for the sake of comfort, for the sake of work, because of weakness and impotence. They kept the individual, the humanism, the man inside them, starting from scratch. They feel guilty and ashamed of the government of cannibals and murderers, though they did not choose them.
She would cry more than once in the arms of support and love of wonderful kind people from around the world. She would learn a new language, she would teach yoga. She would be a good surfer. And would stay real, stay herself. It would open a lot of new, unexpected, surprising things.
He would find himself. He would go beyond the outlined pattern of "endure and keep a low profile." He would smile at the versatility of personality and freedom. He would learn a new language, he would love the world, he would open up and trust himself and his desires. He would be a good surfer and always a unique personality. Russia would remain in their hearts and thoughts: wonderful, rich, beautiful country. They would be bored, they would share the culture and somewhere deep in their subconscious belief that everything would change, that everything would be fine. (Here you go. Again this russian statement "Everything will be fine"… regrettably, we can’t get rid of it).
They will preserve the true value of their people - an amazing thirst for life!
My waters spill from one end of the earth to the other,
And proud whales for some reason listen to my quiet word.
I never learned to speak powerfully and loudly
And words, even from the biggest waves, come timidly.
My thickness gives life to millions of fish and dolphins.
I am so happy with them, they make me beautiful.
They sing about living in the biggest ocean in the world
And I feel so embarrassed by all this attention.
At sunset my waters turn red with embarrassment
And I close my shore eyelids and remember the feeling
As I was still a small puddle in the schoolyard,
And the girls nearby were playing tic-tac-toe.
And jumping on me, noisy boys ran into battle,
While deepening into silence, I read my books.
Not for long, but very carefully,
I absorbed the words of many wonderful people.
And that's when I realized that I'm happy in my silence and I don't need anyone,
And then the children called me Silent Puddle.
Years passed, I became a Still Pool and a Still Lake
And at this time I was sitting on quiet music, and on a quiet dose.
But then, of course, I threw all the muck, but you can’t leave Silence,
You know, she really squints a lot.
And since I was silent and able to listen
Many people came to my shores to pour out their souls
I felt sorry for them, listened to their heavy odes,
And their big tears fell into my blue waters.
They filled me, I got bigger from all these other people's wounds,
And so I was born - the Pacific Ocean.
When I was ten, I painted pictures with my currents.
Thousand shades of blue gave the impression
As if inside me is not water, but the night sky,
Full of stars and light, in which somewhere,
Tearing the canvas with its nose, a killer whale emerges,
Rubbing and washing away my paints, without residue.
I do not think that these canvases would become masterpieces.
Many before me were more talented and courageous,
Well, I was just quiet, and therefore
Like hundreds of poets, I wrote down my thoughts.
He wrote mostly prose, books for various "enlightened",
One of these books, by the way, is called The Pacific Ocean.
I never dreamed of becoming the biggest water
I just always wanted to live that life
Which, you don’t want to change for mud in the swamps,
Always remaining pure and transparent in its deep waters.
And I was so afraid of becoming cloudy that I went into fantasies,
In order not to slurp dirt from other people's drains.
And in my streams, I was always alone, well, there was a little God with me,
He was probably the only dilution of my monologue.
He never said anything specific, but only showed
The way my waves break on the rocks, and it tied
With my words born in the back of my mind
And leading me to this moment, to my current state.
And when people called me the biggest ocean in the world
I was very surprised, because I am so quiet, and there are probably wider oceans.
But then God spoke to me one phrase, in a lonely voice.
"You know, you don't have to be loud to be the world's largest ocean"
(C) Aleksha Novich